She continued. “Worked for a start-up software company outside of San Francisco before moving here six months, two weeks, and four days ago. After breaking up with your girlfriend, Abby Burnham. A schoolteacher. Third grade.” She perched on the side of her desk. “Mr. Moneybags here”—she lifted her chin toward Cody— “bought a house while his poor diabetic mom is still living back home in a tiny house in desperate need of repairs. How’s that?”
“Thorough.” Cody didn’t want to say much more.
“Yes, I am. I rely on impeccable intelligence. I can find out virtually anything I want about anyone. We are riding the wave of the future. The public has a thirst for social media. They lap it up like a man happening upon water in a desert. We’re like drug dealers with a new highly addictive substance. One sniff and they are hooked. Veridian takes them on a ride, but like any drug they need more and more to achieve that high. That’s where we come in. We study them, figure out their motivations, and what it will take to get to that next high. Welcome to the Deep Dive Initiative, DDI as we like to call it. Now, let’s get your biometrics set up.”
The rest of the day, he and Paul were forced together. To Cody’s consternation, Rick set them up in a small conference room inside the unit but just outside the hive where he and Paul spent the afternoon reading introductory material. Cody found the documents rudimentary and nothing of a confidential nature. This time he had to agree with Paul, who labeled the activity “busy work.” Nevertheless, Cody was certain the DDI project would yield him intelligence.
At the end of the day, Cody retrieved his personal belongings from his locker and headed out. He jumped on to his prized possession, a silver-and-black Ducati motorcycle. The rain of the morning had dissipated making conditions much better for his ride home. As he pulled into the garage of his suburban home thirty minutes later, the buzzing of his phone rattled in his pocket. Cody set his helmet aside and answered. “Reid, just the person I wanted to talk to.”
Chapter 3
When Lila stepped out of the police station, she shielded her face from the last glimmers of sun before night settled in. She huffed out the stale air of the police headquarters’ interview room and inhaled a sweet aroma, thanks to a light breeze and the pink flowers from the desert willow trees bordering the parking lot. Even in the urban setting, the crickets chirped, and a few fireflies lit the sky. Pulling her purse close, she rushed toward her car. As she rounded the vehicle, she saw a black sedan roll to a stop and the front driver’s side window slowly lowered.
“Ms. Caldwell.”
The voice, a thick southern drawl, belonged to Walt Talcott, senior partner of Hirst, Talcott, and Painter. With dull brown eyes the color of oolong tea and a ring of matching brown hair circling his half-bald head, the man pivoted toward her.
“Mr. Talcott.” Lila’s voice rose. Her head pounded, and her stomach picked the wrong time to growl. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, over ten hours ago.
“I’d like a word. Get in.”
Although she’d worked for HTP for two years, she’d yet to have a conversation with him. She’d been in the room when he addressed the young associates, but he’d never spoken to her personally. The fact he even knew her name shocked her. She pictured him consulting the firm’s website to find her attorney picture and profile.
A brown tendril of hair blew across her face. She tucked the wayward strand behind her ear and climbed into the passenger side of the car. With her bag between her and Talcott, she settled into the smooth leather seat.
Talcott parked in the open spot next to her eight-year-old SUV. He kept the engine running as he tapped his meaty fingers on the steering wheel. His platinum wedding ring made a thudding sound against the leather wrapped helm. “We’re all saddened by the news of Jack’s death. However, the firm cannot waver in its commitment to our clients, just as you mustn’t waver in your allegiance to the firm. You are to consult with me on any matters related to Jack’s death, even police inquiries. Hilary Foster, as you are aware since she accompanied you during your interview, will represent you in any legal matters, although we don’t expect you’re much more than an unfortunate witness.”
Tensing, she bristled at his dismissive tone. What about the well-being of Jack, his family, or her? She shouldn’t have been surprised as she waded through the dog-eat-dog world of working for a large law firm. She could have opted for a less intense environment, but HTP was the top firm in Texas and one of the top five in the US. The on-the-job training she’d received had been invaluable and probably more educational than all three years of law school. Despite the accolades attributable to HTP, she’d come to the firm for other reasons.
Her father had asked her more than once to consider joining his expanding restaurant business as vice president under his chief legal officer. Although Lila wanted to gain some experience separate from her father’s company, she hadn’t ruled out the possibility of joining her him in a few years.
She turned her attention back to Talcott, disgust washing over her. One of his fellow legal partners was just murdered and another of his attorneys witnessed his death. Yet the man displayed not an ounce of sadness for Jack or even a modicum of compassion for her. She’d learned one thing from her years in foster care—if you don’t care about yourself, no one else will. Thanks to reuniting with her father, after her mother abandoned her, she’d escaped more lonely years. Shifting in her seat, she forced herself to look Talcott in the eye.
The round-faced man continued, “I dispatched Hilary Foster to guide you through the police interview because I don’t want any mistakes on our part or theirs.”
Hilary, a criminal defense attorney, was a fearless litigator. Prosecutors groaned at the prospect of facing off against her, defendants paid through the nose to have her represent them, and she walked on water at HTP. Her tough exterior did not escape her underlings as she taught them the secrets of being a top litigator with passion.
“Thank you, sir.” She’d been both relieved and alarmed when Hilary presented herself as her attorney. The first rule from a criminal defense attorney was never speak to the police without an attorney present. But did Talcott or Hilary believe she needed an attorney for more serious reasons? She’d witnessed the death of a man, not the actual murder so she couldn’t offer much to the investigation.
“Did you see anyone curious at Jack’s residence?” Talcott asked, cutting through her thoughts.
She shook her head. “No. Other than the doorman, I was alone in the penthouse. At least to my knowledge. I didn’t see or hear anyone else.” The idea that the killer might have still been lurking hadn’t occurred to her until the detective had asked hours later. She’d only spent a few precious moments with Jack before the silence of death took over.
“Good. You didn’t see anyone?”
“No. When I entered the penthouse, Jack was slumped in a chair, bleeding and barely hanging on to life.” Images of his bloodied body played before her. How long had he suffered?
What about the killer or killers? A receptionist monitored the front entrance, and Lila had been escorted to Jack’s penthouse by the doorman, leading her to believe building security was a priority. She would expect cameras to be mounted throughout the building. The murderer couldn’t have escaped unnoticed. Or could he?
“Was Jack able to communicate with you?” Talcott’s dark gaze bore into hers.
Her heart kicked up a notch. She hadn’t divulged the entire conversation she’d had with Jack moments before his death. Without any idea if what Jack had said was him talking out of his head or the actual truth, Lila made the decision not to disclose this bit of information to anyone. During the interview with the detective, she summarized the conversation as Jack giving her instructions about work and messages of love for his family. When prompted, she told the detective Jack hadn’t disclosed who his killer was. All true, so technically, she provided an honest answer, just as she would to Talcott. “He wanted me to tell his wife and children he loved them.
Also, he told me to stay on our cases.” She wrapped her hands together. “That’s it.”
Talcott clamped his jaw then nodded. “You are not to grant any media interviews or speak of this matter with anyone outside of me, Hilary, or anyone else we deem appropriate.”
“Understood.” Exhaustion clung to her like a weighted tarp. She could have uttered some polite and completely insincere thanks, but she didn’t have the energy for such niceties. As an attorney, she’d learned to perfect distortions of truth. How could she be grateful for support purely designed to cover their asses? Any potential for negative news about the firm was met with hypervigilance. HTP even employed a media relations specialist.
“Report to my office in the morning. As I’ve already stated, do not talk to anyone regarding Jack, his caseload, or the circumstances of his death. In the morning, we will brief you in further detail on the firm’s stance regarding Jack’s death as well as our plans to cover his clients.” Talcott gave her a brief smile then clicked open the door locks. “Say, eight a.m., sharp.”
Lila cleared her throat and placed a hand on the door handle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She gripped her bag with one hand and opened the door with the other, thankful her hands were occupied, and she was unable to pummel him. Warm, humid air mixed with the car’s cool blast stirred around her as she balanced for a second between two worlds.
As soon as the door shut, Talcott gunned the European export out of the parking lot.
Turning, she trudged to her vehicle, car keys jangling in her hand. She glanced in the backseat before unlocking the door. Her car had been sitting in the station parking lot for several hours and the late-summer Texas heat had baked the inside. Despite the heat, Lila shivered and slid into the driver’s seat. She gave in to the urge to check her backseat again, then started the car. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she spotted several empty parking spaces but no one directly behind her. Returning her gaze to the front, she eyed another car pulling into a space a row ahead. She blew out a breath when a harried sandwich delivery guy jumped out and ran into the station with several bags of food.
As she angled out of the parking lot, another glance behind her told her no one followed, but to be safe she decided to take a roundabout route to her house.
Lila didn’t turn on the car’s air conditioner right away, which helped to ward off the chill invading her body. For the next minute she counted, a technique to settle her nerves. When she reached eighty, she felt her shoulders loosen. The day had been a jumble of emotions, but she couldn’t afford to lose control.
Could Jack’s murder have been an isolated event having nothing to do with her life or The Order? Jack said she was in danger. Could his warning be true?
Lila rooted in her purse while keeping her eyes on the road. Grasping the secured phone she always carried, she drew out the device.
Her cousin answered right away. Born Sloane Sinclair, she made the painful decision to change her name to Carson Maxwell and flee her cruel family. “Lila, I’m so glad you called. Adam and I are having a disagreement about the wedding cake. I want red velvet and…What’s wrong?” Carson’s voice grew serious.
After gushing out the entire explanation of what happened, Lila drew in a breath.
“Are you hurt?” Carson asked.
Lila angled on to the highway ramp and headed toward home. “No, but Jack said I was in danger. He could have been delirious. I can’t be sure. Is everyone okay?”
“We’re all safe, but based on what you told me, I’m concerned about you. Do you mind if I put Adam on?”
Adam Forrester was not only Carson’s fiancé but also an FBI agent in the Boston office. “Lila, what’s going on?” Adam asked.
She gave him the short version.
“We haven’t had any threats, but I don’t want you to go home,” Adam said. “Get to the safe house. Remember the procedure we discussed? Do you have your weapon and go-bag?”
The words “safe house” ignited her pulse to a gallop. The attack hadn’t been on her, but Jack’s warning replayed. Lila made a U-turn and headed away from her house. “I know what to do. I’m prepared.”
“I’ll talk to Reid and check again on threats. We know Lance is in New York right now.”
“But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t sent his thugs after me or anyone else.” She sighed. “I don’t know that Jack’s death is related to Lance or The Order, but we can’t take any chances.”
“I’m here, Lila,” Carson’s voice filled her ear. “Adam is going to contact Reid and the Alliance task force leader. Would it help if I talked for a little longer?”
“Yes.” Lila nodded, even though Carson couldn’t see her. The Alliance always made her feel safe. The group was an organized covert task force led by Reid Patterson, who was also her uncle and an FBI agent, along with one of his trusted colleagues, Yvonne Hill. The special group was formed as a secret operation to respond to the number of federal officials compromised by The Order. All of her dear friends had suffered through near-death experiences with the cult-like organization founded by her great-grandfather, Russell Sinclair. They’d all been read in as consultants to this special task force. Now, with Lance at The Order’s helm, the Alliance believed the danger had more than tripled.
“I spoke to Marissa this afternoon. Justin was at the hospital as usual and little Isabella was talking up a storm. She’s such an adorable two-year-old. They love Virginia, but both Marissa and Justin plan a vacation after the wedding.” Carson kept her voice calm and spoke to Lila as if they were having an everyday conversation.
Lila pictured cute little Isabella, her curly brown pigtails framing her angelic face. She couldn’t live if something happened to that little girl or her parents.
“I also had lunch with Holly this afternoon,” Carson continued. “Her private practice is going well and she’s doing wonders for the kids she counsels. Reid makes it a priority to spend as much time with Holly as possible, but he’s focused, as always, on bringing down Lance.” She paused. “And Cody, he—”
“I don’t want to know about Cody right now. Thanks for talking. I’m good now.” Lila gripped the wheel tighter. The clanging of her heart every time someone mentioned Cody Green’s name only increased her nerves. Purging his image from her mind, she took the next exit.
“Okay, honey.”
“We’re scheduling an emergency meeting.” Adam came back to the phone.
“Please call us when you get to the safe house,” Carson added.
Gray clouds curled into the creamsicle colors of the setting sun. Soon, darkness and maybe a storm would arrive. She hated being caught in the darkness. Pulling into a gas station, she glanced at the SUV’s instrument panel as her main cell buzzed. Gia Vidal, her best friend and fellow second-year HTP associate, was calling for the third time.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Gia said.
“I’ve had better days.”
“I’m coming over and bringing dinner. And wine.”
Gia’s voice full of concern, made her smile. “Thanks, Gia, but all I want to do is climb into bed. I have a meeting with Talcott and Hilary in the morning. Let’s meet for lunch after.”
“I’m holding you to that. If you change your mind about me keeping you company, call me.”
Glancing at the inky sky, she shivered as she filled the gas tank. A low growl of thunder moaned in the distance. She jumped back into her car and picked up speed out of the station. She should be used to fleeing monsters in the dark.
Chapter 4
The soft dinner music drifting through the large ballroom slowly ended as Lance Sinclair climbed the stairs to the dais. He turned, gave his practiced grin, and waved at various business leaders, celebrities, and politicians. Standing in front of the podium, Lance adjusted the microphone. “Welcome to the Sinclair Foundation Annual Gala.” He swept a glance over the room, landing on a familiar brunette. He’d met the raven-haired beauty, Katarina Yurkov in St. Petersburg five years ago. Altho
ugh she wasn’t his date for the evening, he’d invited the New York City Ballet’s principal dancer to Manhattan for the evening’s festivities.
Katarina flashed a pearly smile, the wattage matching her silver sequined gown. She lifted her chest as if offering him a preview of things to come.
Lance tore his gaze from the woman and slipped into his compassionate millionaire persona. “We’re the lucky ones. We’re able to be here tonight. Right now, children are struggling against a beast called cancer. Tonight, I’m proud to say my foundation, thanks to all of you, will be making a $1.5 million dent in childhood cancer research. I’ve set the tone for this foundation, and my team has delivered. I…we are one step closer to curing childhood cancer.”
With the room erupting in thunderous applause, Lance soaked up the glory as he lingered at the podium. Power, like an electric current, flowed through him. My father could never accomplish what I have, even the FBI wouldn’t dare come after me. Lance smiled, drinking in the adoration of the crowd. Strolling off the dais, he shook hands and kissed several women then stopped in front of Katarina.
“You look beautiful tonight.” He planted quick kisses on each of her prominent cheekbones. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her at the small café on the shores of the Baltic Sea, he couldn’t shake her from his thoughts. During that trip, he’d invited her to his table where they’d shared ice-cold shots of vodka and savory bites of caviar on bliny, buttered bread. During the meal, he’d learned she was a ballet dancer, during the night he’d learned she exuded passion. He’d become her benefactor and spearheaded her audition to the New York City Ballet. While he’d been prepared to guarantee her acceptance into the exclusive company, the move proved unnecessary as her talent had exceeded expectations.
Order of Truth Page 2
